The Sixth-Year Ghost
by HarmonyofWords
Summary: When a lonely first year comes up a little-known tower in Hogwarts, she finds more than a quiet place to write home. She finds someone to talk to: someone who's lonely, too. He hadn't talked to anyone in a long time - not since he died. A friendship forms between the first-year Ravenclaw and the forever-a-sixth-year Gryffindor.


I don't own these characeters - I'm just playing in the magic that JK Rowling created.

* * *

It was on her second full day in the castle that Gemma first noticed that the castle's decor was rather scruffy. The castle had been interesting to explore - and a good way to pass the time in a place that wasn't her common room (even though that hadn't exactly bene by choice). It was somewhere on the sixth floor that Gemma paused to examine a suit of armour standing at attention next to a doorway. His arm had a rather large dent in it, and there were small pockmarks of black on his breastplate. _He looks like he'd fought in a battle,_ Gemma thought

She leaned around the suit of armour, wondering if its back was as scarred as its front, when the door she was leaning on gave way. She stumbled for a second, then rightened herself. She looked at the door carefully. What had Jeremy said about exploring? She tried to remember the words of the sixth year prefect who had taken her year under his wing. _If it was locked, don't explore it, right?_ That was what he had said. _But if it wasn't . . ._

She pushed open the door, and peered past it. She was surprised to find that it didn't open to a room, but a small, narrow staircase that seemed to wind up quite a few stories. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she stepped into the staircase, adn eased the door shut behind her. Maybe it would be a good place where she could be alone.

The tower was winding up, up - higher than the Ravenclaw tower, Gemma had concluded before she could see the light from above. Only a few minutes later, she found her head peeking out into a small room, bathed in light coming from its single window. The room was empty except for a single shelf with a few books on it. Gemma smiled. This was perfect.

She walked over to the window, barely glancing outside before sitting down and pulling out a book and a sheet of parchment from her shoulder bag. The found a pen in her pocket, uncapped it, then neatly printed the date - _3 September 1998_ \- in the top right hand corner of the page. She paused a minute before deciding on a return address to print underneath it, before quickly scrawling _Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_ on the line below the date. She stared at the words for a minute, trying to figure out if it would work. Well, it's not like my letter was any better.

Her letter had been given to her by a smiling Professor Sprout, who was dressed in a not-quite time period yellow dress - Gemma suspected that it was at least fifty years old, if not more - and a brown cape. The envelope had been big and thick, firm in her hands. But she had never quite seen a letter addressed like this before. In crisp, green ink, the address read: _Gemma Sapworthy. Second Bedroom to the Right, 56 Wick Road, Windsor._

This address would do just fine, she decided. Maybe owls wouldn't need precise addresses, being magical and all.

Gemma moved on to the next line. _Dear Mum, Dad, Daniel, and Melanie_. Then she paused and frowned. An owl.

She remembered the owls that flew in at breakfast that morning, the ones that had rushed in from above with a uniform flap of wings, that had nearly knocked over her milk. (She had nearly gagged on the pumpkin juice the first time she'd drank it, thinking that it was orange juice). Both Liam and Evelyn had gotten letters from their parents, and Andy and Laurie had received packages with sweets, which they had shared with the rest of the first year Ravenclaws. Gemma had taken one of the treats, and had nearly jumped out of her skin when the chocolate she was about to put in her mouth had sprang from her hand to land - _plop!_ \- in her milk.

The other first years had laughed at that, and once she had gotten over the shock, Gemma had laughed, too. It was funny, she supposed, but she hadn't had the heart to eat the frog, even after Laurie had fished out the squirming chocolate for her.

Most of her friends in Ravenclaw had gotten an owl of some sort, either the first or second morning they had been at Hogwarts. And it made sense, Gemma knew - they came from wizarding families.

They hadn't been surprised when the portraits had yelled at them, or when the ghosts had floated into the Great Hall to sit at the tables with the students. They had all heard of pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans before and had known that the grey, brown, and yellow beans should be treated with special caution. They hadn't had to ask the person next to them what the Headmistress meant when she'd talked about the "tragedy" that had happened in the last year, or why the school had needed international help in order to be ready to openby fall. They had already known why the Welcoming Feast had ended in a solemn toast to "the fallen," and hadn't needed muddled explanations of why everyone was so sad. And they had all had owls to send letters with, or parents or siblings who had one. She frowned. Owls. How would she-

"Oh - hello."

Gemma gave a shriek and jumped, dropping her pen. It made a loud clatter on the stone floor as she whipped her head around to see who had spoken. The room had been so quite up until now, and she hadn't realized anyone else had come up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," the voice came from behind the stairs, where the light from the window didn't quite reach. "I just - I didn't expect to see anyone in my tower." The voice was rather nice, Gemma thought, and she relaxed a little.

"I - I didn't hear anyone come up." She squinted, trying to see through the shadows. She thought she could see something behind the edge of the short wall surrounding the entrance to the stairway.

A laugh, and she could see a figure moving closer to her. "No, I guess you wouldn't have. I keep forgetting how quietly I can move now."

And as he stepped into the sunlight that came through the window from the late sunset, Gemma realized why she hadn't heard the slap of shoes on the steps or the breath of someone coming up the tower. This person, after all, couldn't breathe.

_Is it wrong to call a ghost a person?_ she wondered, before realizing that she was staring at him. But he was staring right back, studying her just as much as she was studying him. He was a boy, she realized, not much older than Daniel was - seventeen or eighteen. He was smiling at her, but his silvery eyes seemed a little guarded.

"Come to explore the castle already?" But he didn't seem upset that she had stumbled into his tower, which Gemma guessed was a good thing. He looked . . . rather normal, compared to some of the other ghosts. He was smiling at her - his silvery face reminding her of the prefects that had come by throughout the past few days to make sure she wasn't lost or had any questions.

"Just writing home." She said, remembering the letter in her lap.

He floated a little closer, still smiling. "Telling your folks about the sorting, I suppose? And your new friends?"

Gemma shrugged. "I guess." She was annoyed to feel tears, suddenly burning in her eyes. She looked down, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"It's a pretty great place, Hogwarts." the ghost said. "You'll like it here."

"I hope so." The traitorous tear escaped and started rolling down her face and fell off her nose, blurring the "i" in "Witchcraft". She wiped her eyes irritably.

"Hey," the voice sounded concerned now. "Are you alright?"

Gemma nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she wiped away the second tear that determinedly followed the first.

"You sure?"

Gemma didn't answer, and she swallowed, trying to fight her trembling lip into submission.

"Hey," the voice said gently. "Do you want to talk about it? I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about." He gave a dry laugh. "I guess you can say that I'll take it to the grave, even."

Gemma snorted at this, but that snort turned into a half-sob, and suddenly she was crying and talking and telling his boy - this ghost - about the past two days.

"-and everything's so new and everyone's so lonely here and - and I miss my parents and my sister and-" Gemma could feel the tears starting to burn in the cornered of her eyes, and she wiped them away angrily. "- and I'm trying to write them a letter but I don't even know how to send it to them!" And there the dam broke, and the tears started coming in earnest.

"Whoa, whoa," the ghost sounded a little panicked. "Good job, making the firstie cry," she heard him mutter to himself. "And I can't even offer her a handkerchief, blast it." His voice switched back to that gentle, uncertain tone he'd used a moment before. "Hey, it'll be alright. It's all a little strange at first - I know I was pretty overwhelmed when I first came here, and I missed my family, too, but you're going to love Hogwarts - it's a great place. The classes are really neat - and you'll be able to stay up late for Astronomy, to see the stars and planets in the sky. The Quidditch games are a lot of fun, too - and getting to fly for the first time. And playing fetch with the Giant Squid, when he's in a good mood. You should definitely try that sometimes."

Gemma sniffed, the tears lightening a little as she listened to his calming voice.

He kept talking, floating close by her, seemingly encouraged by her lack of sobs. "And for the letter - well, you can just ask one of the prefects or the older students where the Owelry is, and you can use one of the school owls, since you don't have your own. No problem."

"I can't," she hiccuped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Why not? Allergic?"

"My family isn't magical. I'm muggleborn," she said, sniffling a little and trying to regain what little dignity she had left.

The ghost seemed unconcerned by this little detail. "Oh, is that all?" He floated a little closer, settling himself in a crossed-legged position close to her, but still floating an inch or two off the air. "Well, that's easy enough." He paused. "Are your parents okay with magic?"

Gemma sniffed again, nodding. "Mum was thrilled. Said it was just like out of a fairytale, that I had magic in me, and she always knew I was special." The thought of her mother's amazement at the sight of the people disappearing into the barrier at the station made her smile a little. "I think she's more excited that I got to come here that I am."

The ghost nodded. "Think I know what you mean. It's all kind of . . . well, magical, especially the first time around, isn't it?"

Gemma shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, but if your folks don't mind magic, that makes this easy. Go on up to the Owelry, and pick one of the birds that looks sleepy and old. Those follow directions better - believe me, they're more trustworthy than the little ones. Ask him not to deliver the letter 'til after it gets dark - or just have him drop it on the back porch or something, at night, where someone will find it. Later, you might even make a drop spot, or a perch outside, where your parents can check for letters from you without worrying about neighbors seeing the owl."

Gemma thought about Melanie or Daniel finding it before they left for classes in the morning, and she smiled at the idea. "That would work - I think my family would like that." Then she remembered something, and her face fell. "But they won't be able to send letters to me. Not without an owl."

He smiled at her, eyebrows raised. "Actually, they can. You can ask some of the older muggleborns here how they did it, too, but one way is to ask the owl to stick around until they respond. Tell your parents to write back within a day or two, and go outside with the letter. The owl will come down, and they can attach it to their leg - or sometimes the owl will just snatch it up from them and fly away." He made a face. "Makes for some close calls - somehow they always seem to just barely miss taking your fingers with the letters."

The thought of Daniel almost getting his fingers nipped by an owl made Gemma giggle. The boy smiled, running his hand through his hair idly. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? It's a bit harder to be a muggleborn here - you have to get used a lot of new things, or find workarounds for things that the magical families can do easy - but you'll get used to it. And you can always go to one of the older muggleborns - usually, they'll have a few workarounds for thing like this, too."

Gemma nodded, thinking about that. "The prefect, the one in fifth year - Nancy Hawthorne? She said she was a muggleborn, too." She smiled. "She was the one who told us that we should keep stashes of pens in our bags as well as quills."

"Ah, yes, pens and pencils. The simple invention of modern muggles that wizards still haven't seemed to hear about." He made a face. "Believe me, you'll start to appreciate them after you get through with your first year."

She laughed. "That's exactly what Nancy said. I don't see why we can't just transfigure a quill with a pen tip - that would make things so much easier."

"Maybe before you leave here, you'll have figured out how to do that," the ghost said. "I know you could make a fortune if you sold them."

Gemma smiled, and picked up her pen, carefully capping it and slipping it into her bag. They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before he spoke. "What are you writing your parents about?" He seemed almost excited to hear her talk. "About your classes?"

Gemma nodded. "Dad was so interested to see my books when we got them - I think he read my Herbology book cover to cover before I left home. He's a biology professor, and he was crazy about all the new plants. I told him maybe I could bring some clippings, or maybe some seeds, from school and see if we could grow some of the plants at home - the non-dangerous ones, I mean. And maybe some of the plants we use in potions, maybe we can find a way for us to brew at home, so Melanie and Daniel can see what I'm doing in class, too. I wonder . . . " she paused, thinking. "Does potion-brewing count as using magic in front of muggles? I know we'll get warnings for using our wands during the summer - Nancy already told me that, since I asked - but no one's said anything about making potions."

The ghost grinned. "If you're careful and don't use your wand, you can brew over the holidays at your house. Some of the ingredients are going to be hard to find, but if you prepare right, you could be able to. Of course," he added, "cleaning up will be harder without magic, but it's do-able."

_If it doesn't use magic . . ._ "Can muggles brew, then?" Gemma asked. "Since it doesn't use magic like you said, do potions just work because of the magic in the ingredients?"

The ghost shook his head, and unfolded his legs to float up above the window restlessly. "Not quite. The best I could figure was that you do need magic in you to do most of the brewing. Muggles can prepare the ingredients, and they can watch and usually can use the finished potion, but they can't quite brew themselves. But there are a lot of things that you can get away with at home during holidays that you wouldn't guess you could - just so long that you're careful about who sees it. The no-magic-over-the-summer rule is really just a no-wand-magic and a don't-let-people-see rule, and it's got a lot of loopholes."

Gemma nodded. "I guess that makes sense. I'll have to tell my sister that I'll show her how to make some potions over the summer - she really likes chemistry, so I think she'd like that. So would Mum and Dad and Daniel."

She stood up, stretching, and turned to look out the window. The sun was starting to set, and she could see groups of students out by the lake, some of them starting to come inside. The tower wasn't quite as high as the Ravenclaw tower, she realised, but she could still see the village in the distance.

"It's quite the view, isn't it?" She realised that he had floated down next to her. "That was one of my favorite things about this tower - the view, and the fact that not a lot of people seemed to know about it. It's nice to find a quiet spot here that's not the library - where Madame Pince isn't always hovering over you."

She smiled. "It is beautiful. The castle really is gorgeous, once you get used to it."

"It's a pretty amazing place," he agreed. For a few minutes, Gemma watched the older students sitting by the lake and the group of Gryffindors flying at the Quidditch Pitch without saying anything. _It's so quiet here_, she thought, _away from the city lights and traffic_. It was kind of nice.

"So -" the ghost's voice brought her back from her musings, and he shifted beside her. "I have a very important question for you. I mean, after playing Paranormal Counselor, I think I deserve to know your name."

Gemma laughed. That was so much like something that Daniel would say. "I'm Gemma."

The boy started to stick his hand out for her to shake, before snatching it back and running it through his hair. "I forgot I can't exactly shake someone's hand," he muttered, and Gemma couldn't help but giggle at his rueful face. He gave her a look, but he was smiling, too. "You should be glad I remembered." He floated backwards a few inches. "Touching a ghost feels _weird_ if you're not another ghost."

Gemma hadn't thought about how a ghost would _feel_ before. "Really?"

"One of the ghosts passed through me when I was a third year," he said. "It felt like I'd been drenched with a bucket of ice water, inside and out. Not pleasant, I can assure you."

Gemma turned away from the window, taking a chance to study him more intently. Unlike almost all of the other ghosts she had seen at Hogwarts so far, she realized that he was dressed in clothes a student might wear - a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a simple jacket that looked almost muggle-like. The small square bag that he wore slung over his shoulder looked decidedly muggle, and she wondered what he had in it.

She sat back down, hugging her knees to her chest. "You're a lot younger than the other ghosts I've seen."

He started drifting towards the other side of the small room, almost as if he didn't know he was doing it. "I guess I am. I mean, there's Moaning Myrtle, isn't there? But even I'm a baby compared to her."

Gemma didn't know who Moaning Myrtle was, but she thought that the boy did look rather young to be a ghost - he looked just about the same age as the Head Boy that had helped her off the train two days ago. "Were you at the Welcoming Feast?" she asked, curiously. "I don't think I saw you there."

He shook his head. "I came in, at the back, for a second. But I didn't stay long."

"Why not?"

The ghost floated up a little higher, shrugging. "Don't really like crowds, I guess." He looked down at her. "Was the feast fun?"

Gemma nodded. "I liked the food. And meeting the kids in my year."

"What about the Sorting?"

Gemma started folding her letter and slipped it into the copy of _The Standard Book of Spells Year 1_ she had been using to write the letter against. "They put me in Ravenclaw."

"House of intelligence and curiosity," he grinned. "That's a good house to be in - I think you'll have fun there."

"I guess."

When she didn't say anything else, just continued putting her books back in her bag, he floated closer to her, and folded his legs into a sitting position, slowly drifting down. "Were you hoping for another house?"

Gemma shook her head. "Not really. I heard about the houses on the train, but I didn't really hope for a certain one. Maybe Hufflepuff - the girl I was talking to was hoping to go in there."

The ghost nodded, putting his chin in his hands as he watched her close her bag and set it aside. "So what's wrong with Ravenclaw? You seem like you're smart, and that you try hard."

"But that's just it!" The words seem to fly out of Gemma's mouth. "I'm not smart, not about magic. Everybody here know more than me, about everything. Even the stupidest wizarding child would know that, _yes_, pictures talk and _yes_, the staircases at Hogwarts move, and _duh_ Grindewald was the real reason for World War II, not Hitler. I'm just a muggle here who can't get into her own Common Room because she doesn't even know what the eagle's asking!" She looked down at her hands took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

He was quiet for a second, then said softly, "That's a lot of worries, on top of everything else."

Gemma flushed and looked up at him to find him studying her intently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, don't apologize." He kept on looking at her for a minute, as if deciding what to say, and then gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Alright - the Paranormal Counselor has a few things to tell you, okay?"

Gemma managed to smile a little, even though she was fighting tears again. _Again. Haven't you already cried enough?_

"First off -" he gave her a look, one that said that she had better pay attention to what he was saying, "you are not _just_ a muggleborn. Some of the greatest witches and wizards in the world were muggleborns, and some of the worst scum that ever held a wand were purebloods. Blood has nothing to do with how good of a person you are, alright?

"Second, you're not the only muggleborn here, so don't worry about not knowing things. There are a lot of new muggleborns every year, and there always will be - you'll get caught up soon enough." He drifted two or three inches off of the air, still cross-legged. "It's all so big and overwhelming at first, but there are book that can help you, if you like that, or there are people that you can ask questions. Even when other students get tired of answering questions, most portraits and ghosts are happy to answer them, if you can find the right ones."

Gemma remembered the portraits in the castle, and she nodded. "Jeremy - he's the sixth year prefect - said that the portrait of the astronomer in our common room likes to talk about classes with students. He said that he's good if you need help with homework. And the Fat Friar seems to like talking to students in the halls."

The ghost grinned. "Exactly. You may not know everything about the wizarding world, but you can learn. And most people don't expect you to learn everything, either. But, moving on- thirdly, Ravenclaw isn't exactly a smart people house." Gemma opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "Let me finish. Some of the most brilliant people I know - one witch in particular - were in houses that weren't Ravenclaw. You don't have to be a Ravenclaw to be brilliant, just like you don't have to be a Hufflepuff to be kind. I think Ravenclaw's a house where people who are curious go, and who want to learn, not necessarily those who are good at learning or who are already really smart."

"And as for the door - I had a friend in Ravenclaw who told me that half the trick to getting it to open is just to try an answer. He said it doesn't matter so much if it's the right answer, so much that you try to figure it out."

"It asked me why can't you transfigure food from nothing," Gemma said, frowning. "I don't even know how to transfigure a needle from a matchstick."

"Well, then," the ghost said "That can be your answer. I mean, it's worth trying."

Gemma hadn't thought of that. The eagle _had_ technically asked why _she_ couldn't transfigure food, hadn't it?

"It's a lot about looking at the question a little differently, and a little about just trying an answer," the ghost said.

"I guess so," Gemma smiled. "I'll try that."

"You might want to try it soon," the ghost said. "It's getting late - you don't want to miss curfew. Filch will have your head, won't he?"

Gemma looked up at the window, noticing how the light was darker now - not the bright slow that come from sunset. She jumped up, snatching her bag from the floor. "I'd better go," she said. "I didn't realize it was so late." She turned to the him as he also untangled his legs and stood up. "Thank you - for listening."

He waved off her gratitude. "It's nice to talk to someone, once in a while."

She turned back and studied him, floating by the window. He looked a little lonely when he said that, she thought. He was smiling, but his smile seemed like it was pasted on to hide something serious - something sad. Her hand still on the stair railing, she paused. "Could I come again, do you think? To see you?"

The ghost smiled again, another one of those guarded smiles. "If you want. I'd like that, I think - to see you again."

Gemma nodded. She wondered why he didn't wander the castle, like the other ghosts, who would flit around to talk with students. If he was lonely, there were a lot of students to talk to at Hogwarts. But she smiled at him, and nodded. "I'll be back, then."

She had taken two steps before she turned around again. "You never told me your name."

"I didn't, did I?" The boy floated a little higher, almost perching on the windowsill, his long legs swinging. "Well, I guess you can call me the Paranormal Counselor. I suppose that fits, doesn't it?"

Gemme couldn't help but laugh at that. "That's not really your name."

He looked a little offended. "What's wrong with it?"

"No one's named _that_."

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in playful challenge. "Are you sure? Think about all of the ghosts here in the castle. Nearly-Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron. Have you ever met one with an ordinary name? It's like, an essential part of being a ghost."

She gave him an unconvinced look, but a small smile crept up her lips even as she shook her head. "That's not really your name though, is it?"

He smiled. "No, I guess not. It is rather a mouthful, isn't it?" He stood up, and floated down to her level before giving her a short bow. "I'm Colin. Colin Creevy. Welcome to Hogwarts, Gemma."


End file.
